The Dead Don't Lie

by Anne Russo

  * * * *

  The following weekend, Saturday afternoon, and the museum was overrun with tourists. Adam tried to blend in with the crowds of people milling around the many priceless works of art as he followed a discreet distance behind their newest target—Alonzo Rinaldi, an Italian mobster and the figurehead of a well-known NYC crime family. He cut an imposing figure with his head of silvery white hair and tanned, seen-it-all face as he surveyed each room with hawk-like precision, assessing for real and imagined threats. He had two shadows following him, two identical black suits with salt and pepper hair, resembling extras straight out of central casting. Bloodthirsty gangster or not, today, Rinaldi played doting and attentive grandfather as he toured the artwork accompanied by his eleven-year-old grandchildren—a boy and girl set of twins wearing matching jeans and T-shirts. Distinguishable only by the length of their curly black hair.

  Adam searched for Ian. Over an hour ago, he had ordered Adam to follow the Rinaldi’s around while he ran off to do God knows what. Adam’s assignment was to watch Rinaldi’s bodyguards, to note how they reacted to people getting too close, how far back they stayed.

  Adam lingered in the Greco-Roman room, cataloging his list for Ian when a voice called his name. He jumped at the sound, stunned to find his old college roommate and too brief lover, Edmund Ramsay.

  “Oh my God,” Edmund gasped, open mouthed with shock. He pulled Adam into a tight hug before Adam could stop him. “Is it you?” Edmund shook his head in amazement. “I was told you died.”

  “You can’t be here. Please, Edmund. You need to leave,” Adam pleaded, searching for Ian in the throngs of people gathered.

  Edmund reached for him. “Why? What the hell is going on? Why does everyone think you’re dead?”

  He had no time for those questions. Or any other. Adam beyond frantic as he pushed Edmund from him, forceful now.

  “Trust me. Please leave. I was never here. You never saw me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Edmund protested.

  Adam panicked when he spied Ian approaching from the entrance. “Goddamn it,” Adam swore under his breath as he tried to step past him, but Edmund stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Just do yourself a favor and get the fuck out of here. Now!” Adam shook him off, spitting out the words through gritted teeth.

  Edmund’s face fell, but he did what he asked, casting anxious glances over his shoulder.

  Adam heaved a sigh of relief as he lost sight of him in the burgeoning crowd.

  “Who was that?” Ian questioned, coming up behind him.

  “Oh, someone asking for directions,” Adam answered with a bored shrug. “He couldn’t find the gift shop.”

  He waited for Ian to press further. Instead, he surprised him by accepting his explanation.

  “I have what I need. Let’s go.”

  Adam breathed a sigh of relief. That was close, too close. Grateful to have avoided disaster, he followed Ian out of the museum without a word.

  * * * *

  For two weeks Adam struggled hard to curb his building anxiety, crippling hysteria rising with each passing day. First, escalated by his one night stand and later battle with Ian. Their unpleasant encounter followed by his terrifying run in with Edmund. By the skin of his teeth, he’d averted complete and total disaster. A lie he might’ve not sold so quickly if Ian had been paying attention to him. Instead, since they’d slept together, Ian had avoided him at every turn, a pattern Adam was well-versed.

  Still, it didn’t help soothe Adam’s wounded ego, the raw and ugly truth of being yet another of Ian’s cast offs. Ian. Adam didn’t want to dwell on Ian. Or expect the shiver up the back of his neck when he ran into him. Nor did he wish to wake up with the phantom sensation of him beside him. The memory of their one time, a gauzy, hazy dream, half-remember and forever craved.

  When forced to work together, Ian was stern and quick to temper. Adam did his best to taper his seething hostility. Still, if Ian wished to ignore him, he could return the favor. Until one midnight, a knock on his door awakened him. Half-asleep, Adam switched on the light, stumbling out of bed to find Ian there.

  “I’m not inviting you in.”

  Ian shook his head. “Just for a minute. We can’t have this conversation out in the hall.”

  “Why not?” Adam insisted, unable to calm the tangled web of nerves and want. The urge to fling himself into Ian’s arms and blot out the entire world.

  Ian frowned and barreled his way inside over Adam’s protests. Adam backed up, livid, as Ian shut the door behind him.

  “Not now,” Ian insisted. And not here.”

  Adam crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrow raised incredulously. “Where then? A cheap motel? The backseat of your car?”

  * * * *

  Ian pushed off the door and reached for Adam without stopping to reconsider. His fingers curled around the back of his neck as he yanked Adam close, kissing him deeply. His entire body sighed with relief the moment their lips met.

  He pulled back, pleased with the stunned, flushed look on Adam’s face, pupils were blown wide, lips wet and parted. And he could think of nothing but kissing him again, his reason for coming here a distant memory. He leaned in, bringing him close, but Adam shook his head as if clearing it free of Ian’s influence. His eyes narrowed, sharp and mean. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes flashing.

  “Don’t! Don’t you ever touch me again!” Adam shoved Ian back and away from him.

  “I’m sor—”

  But then Adam shocked him by launching into his arms, kissing him wildly, his hands everywhere, clawing and scratching down his back, buried in his hair, the kiss itself brutal. More a battle of wills and less a seduction. They slammed into the closed door, kissing until nothing in the world mattered.

  “You fucker, you absolute fucking asshole,” Adam hissed between kisses, his words a senseless blur.

  “Baby, I know, I know,” Ian pleaded, frantic to stop him from continuing. Every word, every syllable hit like a blow, a punch he deserved. He reached under Adam’s shirt, grasping the warm skin between his hands, dragging him closer.

  Ian’s head swam, clearing the mantra of finally, finally. Ever since their first time, Ian had dreamt of little else but having Adam in his arms again, feeling him against him, under him, beneath his hands. The knowledge that soon he’d have to live without this forever was a pain he couldn’t quite bring himself to face. As much as a desperate Adam clearly wished to claw through him, cleave him in half, and devour him whole. He needed the same. To claim and be claimed. He wanted Adam to belong to him, to have them belong to each other.

  “No, you don’t, you don’t.” Adam held Ian back with both hands, red faced and shaking. “You don’t know,” Adam sighed, dropping his head, his hands around Ian’s waist holding him as if afraid to let go. Ian folded him tight, held him. “I can’t be this dumb. I just can’t be.”

  Ian smoothed his hands over Adam’s face, his heart hammering painfully in his chest, an agony that grew with Adam’s next words.

  “Tell me everything’s going to be okay.”

  Ian glanced between them, tilting Adam’s face to his, he kissed him once. “I can’t,” he whispered, his fingers sliding away, wistful across his jaw.

  “Then, why are you here?” The small, quiet way Adam asked him made Ian’s heart hurt.

  The words needed far too heavy to lift, let alone bring to the light, where they’d both have to see its raw and ugly truth. That nothing would ever be okay again.

  Ian coughed, clearing his throat unnerved and ashamed by Adam’s eyes, a wild animal, desperate and cornered. He forced himself back away from the door, and Adam stepped aside. “I came here to ask you for a favor.”

  Adam’s brow wrinkled. “A favor? You want to ask me for a favor? A personal one?”

  “Yes,” Ian answered. “We need to talk. Somewhere where we can be alone.”

  Ian could see he had Adam’s interest piqued, yet h
e refused to accept right away, still hesitant of Ian’s intentions. “So, you do want to meet in a motel? Jesus, Ian.”

  “No. I keep an apartment in the city—”

  “A fuck pad?”

  “Goddamn it, no,” Ian snapped. “I use it mainly as a safe house. A place to stay when I’m in the city. Just—we need to talk, and we can’t do it here.”

  Adam’s eyes narrowed, head tilted. Ian fought the urge to squirm under his rigid focus. “It’s Katherine, isn’t it?” Adam said at last.

  The statement stunned Ian. Once again, Ian should have known not to second guess Adam’s uncanny knack of perception. Ian was well-aware that he was navigating choppy waters. He took his time answering. Everything he said next determined whether Adam agreed to meet him. It was a decision Ian wasn’t ready for Adam to make, the consequences an obscure and looming catastrophe he was unable from setting into motion.

  Ian sighed. “Katherine would disapprove. And she’s right. We’re not suited for one another.”

  “She’s wrong,” Adam claimed. “She doesn’t want us to have this because she doesn’t think we deserve it, but she’s wrong.”

  Ian moved away, but Adam stopped him, hand on Ian’s chest. “You’re not the man she says you are, Ian. You’re not.” Ian refused to meet his eye, but Adam persisted, taking Ian’s hand. “Neither of us deserve this life.”

  Ian snatched his hand back, his gaze averted. “You don’t know me, Adam. You’ve no idea the things I’ve done—”

  “And so have I—done terrible things.”

  “Only because of me, because—” Ian’s chest burned as he fought not to take Adam in his arms, to bed, and lose themselves in each other until everything between them no longer mattered. But the cost was an ever rising wave, Ian was powerless to stop from crashing around them, decimating everything they were, or ever could be.

  “What does it matter now?”

  Ian’s gaze skipped away from Adam’s accusatory stare, fixating on the spot over his shoulder instead.

  “Ian?”

  Ian steadied his spine. The depth of his feelings overwhelmed him. A single glance left Ian bowled over by his weakness, the desire to fall to his knees, and beg forgiveness. But, the ever present shadow that ruled them both barred him. Her hovering presence, demanding they pay in blood for what they’d done, what they had tried to create from the ashes of their pathetic lives despite every warning, every sign along the way.

  He cleared his throat. “Just will you come? Saturday?”

  Ian swallowed hard and glanced away, blinking away the well of tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “We—we can talk Saturday. Okay? I need to get my head right.”

  Adam nodded, surprising Ian by agreeing. “Okay, let’s take a week to think everything over.”

  “That sounds best,” Ian concurred. “Saturday at eight P.M.” Ian handed over an index card with an address written on the front.

  Adam turned it over, sighing. “All right,” he answered, as he twirled the card repeatedly between his fingers, his expression torn.

  * * * *

  The week leading up to his meeting with Ian stretched out before Adam. His days were tedious enough, now near unbearable as he waited for the appointed time to arrive. In the meantime, Ian stayed busy drawing nearer to Rinaldi. Meanwhile, Adam and Mei continued to pursue the lawyer and his mysterious lady friend.

  Still, living in such close quarters, Ian and Adam bumped into each other often. When they did, they acted as if nothing was amiss. Both of them conscious of ever watchful eyes, noting their every move. Inside, Adam was a seething cauldron of pent up emotions and still smarting over Ian’s dismissal of him. But now Adam was aware of the scrutiny they faced. The dilemma that Ian had fought to shield him from by protecting him. Adam, however, remained cautious. Their meet up brought both butterflies and a permeating sense of dread. But despite Adam’s misgivings, he couldn’t curb the hold Ian had over him. The intoxicating allure that beckoned him close while simultaneously warning him away.

  Saturday arrived. And it surprised Adam when no one raised an issue about venturing out without his usual chaperone. Adam drove into the city, the night dark and chilly. He cranked up the heat to near oppressive levels, shivering the entire way. Adam’s palms were sweating, his heart racing into overdrive the closer he got to his destination.

  The address took Adam to a dilapidated apartment building. After double checking the address, he was careful to lock the car doors before approaching. Opening the glass doors, he found himself in a rundown lobby. To Adam, it was a depressing place for a romantic rendezvous. More the setting for a knockdown, drag out fight. Mirrored walls cracked in various places. Cigarette burns and other unknown stains mired the maroon carpeting.

  Adam decided not to chance the suspicious elevator. He took the stairs to the third floor, wary as he knocked on the door at the end of the hallway. The other apartments were quiet as tombs as Adam tried again, waiting with bated breath. No answer, so he pushed the door. The knob turned, letting him inside the apartment. Adam stepped through the doorway, from where he stood, glimpsing only a part of the living room as he closed the door behind him. A chill crept up his spine as silence greeted him. He took a deep breath and called out Ian’s name.

  “In here.”

  The sound of his voice did little to soothe Adam’s nerves, as the tension mounted with each step. Rounding the corner, he stepped into the living room and straight into a scene right out of his worst nightmares.

  In the center of the room, Ian stood with a gun pressed to the back of Edmund Ramsay’s skull. Edmund sat, bleeding and terrified, in a straight back wooden chair. Hector and Kalifa’s stony faces surged forward at his right and left, dragging Adam to the room’s center. Adam fought them as they forced him to sit, so he and Edmund were face to face. Adam tried to speak, but words failed him, stuck dry and useless. He grappled with an awful reality that defied comprehension.

  “Adam, what is this? Who are these people?” Edmund demanded. His words choked off as Ian stunned him with a blow to the temple. Edmund cried out, sagging in his seat, blood flowing.

  The act spurred Adam out of apathy and into action; he scrambled to reach Edmund. Hands pushed him back into his chair. Adam turned to each of them, wordless as he begged for help, but Kalifa and Hector refused to heed his pleas, their sharp focus on Ian and only Ian. Adam slumped forward, afraid to face Edmund, red faced and tear stained, his eyes wide and terrified.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry for this,” Adam sobbed.

  Ian pressed the muzzle of his weapon in deeper, making Edmund gasp. “Shut up,” he ordered. “Both of you,”

  “God, Ian, why are you doing this? Why?” Adam pleaded as he struggled once more.

  Kalifa tightened her grip, a silent warning. He quit struggling and shifted his attention to Ian, attempting to reason with him. A futile and pointless endeavor. Still, he had to try, searching his face for traces of the man he’d gleaned from the monster in his midst. Yet, Adam found nothing there, only blackness, an unknown and terrifying abyss. Once, he had imagined drifting there forever, weightless and lost. Now they were drowning, and he couldn’t get enough air.

  “Ian, look at me. Please let him go. You don’t have to do this.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ian answered, tone devoid of any inflection, his hundred yard stare not quite meeting Adam’s eyes.

  “It won’t undo what we did.”

  Ian stiffened. Adam pushed on, knowing Ian didn’t want an audience for this, but Adam didn’t care, audience or no audience.

  “It happened. And it meant something. It meant something to us both.”

  “Stop talking,” Ian pressed the gun deeper into Edmund’s neck, causing him to recoil. “You’re hurting him.”

  “Please! Don’t do this! I’ll do anything!”

  Ian’s expression darkened. “I’m not doing this. You are. Did you expect to get away with lying to my face? About him?” He tapped his
weapon against Edmund’s face for emphasis, making him wince.

  “Goddamn it, no!” Adam protested, even as Ian remained oblivious to Adam’s pleading. “I’m begging you.”

  “Save it. If you’ve anything to say to Edmund here, you had better say it now.”

  Adam tried, helpless, bitter bile rising in the back of his throat. Stomach churning, nausea building as the brutal reality hit home. He surged forward, stopped by a rough shove into his seat.

  Broken, Adam sobbed into his palms, unable to bear Edmund’s murmured pleas for mercy. Adam bowed his head, ashamed to face his friend as hope sank for both. His mind rebelled, roiled as a lifetime of indecision crashed down around him—the horror of the unimaginable decimating the entirety of his world in its wake.

  Ian’s hostile stare offered little sympathy, but Adam forged on, desperate. “Please, Ian. Talk to me. Okay? I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this!”

  A slight clench of his jaw was the only sign Ian heard. Adam’s faint grasp of hope sinking in an instant. In Ian’s place stood the ghost of a man. A cruel visage of Adam’s wants and needs. A lingering desire, he longed to wrest away, sickened by its presence as it twisted inside him. An insidious and rotten cancer he could not escape from, even now.

  “I love you, shouldn’t that be enough? Why can’t that be enough?” Adam admitted, voice breaking.

  Ian’s hand shook. “You’re lying again. You’d say and do anything to save your neck and his.”

  “I’m not lying about that. And I’m not lying now. If you do this, I swear to God I’ll never forgive you,” Adam confessed, meaning every word.

  A glimmer of something dark and painful swept over the planes of Ian’s face and disappeared; the decision made and immediately regretted.

  “I know,” Ian whispered and pulled the trigger, anyway.

  THE END

  ABOUT ANNE RUSSO